


A Weekend in Central

by noellian



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Found Family, canon slow roasted and carved for juicy bits, jean gets the girl--finally, please let them be teenagers, the elrics collect an older sister instead of their 8th adoptive mom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noellian/pseuds/noellian
Summary: The year 1914, Central City, Amestris.A sunny day, the first in a long time. The rainy season was living up to its name that year, the year before the sun would be swallowed and a man who wasn’t really a man would try to become God.A blue-green blanket, a coloring book, and a box of crayons, all tied up in white satin ribbon.A navy dress, pearl and silver hair pins, a bouquet of flowers, and Jean Havoc in a blazer and tie.Beatrice Cameron, four years his junior, would once again fall apart in the arms of a second lieutenant with an addiction--to her.





	1. Chapter 1

A sunny day, the first in a long time. The rainy season was living up to its name that year, the year before the sun would be swallowed and a man who wasn’t really a man would try to become God. The blond in the red jacket and his companion stood on a dusty little porch just outside Central, one debating whether to ring the doorbell, the other irritated his hands were too large to do it.

Before either could move, the door opened, and a brunette whose height fell somewhere in between the two boys’ stepped onto a well-worn welcome mat, broom in hand. Her soft, wavy hair fell over her shoulders, and the blond’s companion found himself wishing he could feel once again.

She didn’t notice them at first, because her hair was blown into her face by a sudden gust of wind. But after she cleared her vision, she smiled.

“The Elric brothers, gracing my doorstep once more,” she laughed, her voice tinkling like bells in the younger’s ears. She laid the broom against the side of the house and opened her arms to them.

The blond, known formally as the Fullmetal Alchemist, but casually as Ed, hesitated before stepping into her arms. He still wasn’t very happy about the fact she had a good four inches on him, but there was little he could do.

“Hi, Bea,” Ed mumbled against her dress. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him, brushing her hand across his hair as she pressed her cheek to the top of his head.

“It’s good to see you, Edward,” she whispered. “You’re growing up so fast.”

He gave her a good squeeze, and then she let him go, turning to the younger brother, whom she always called by his full name, Alphonse.

“Hello, sweet,” she beamed, extending her arms as high as she could. “Oh, I wish I could give you a real squeeze.”

He giggled, always receptive of her affection, and reminded her, “Someday you will.” He had to crouch down considerably to allow her to wrap her arms around his shoulders, resting her head against his helmet. He used the lightest touch he could manage as he wrapped his arms around her, resting his hands on her back to return her hug. And she surprised him this time, by turning her head, rubbing at the metal near his eyes, and giving him a little kiss.

He gasped, and one gloved hand went to his face as she stepped back, gesturing into the house.

“Please, come in. I can make you some tea, Ed,” Bea said, bringing the broom back inside. The sweeping could wait; she had very special guests to attend to.

“Uh, we can’t stay long, Bea,” Ed said, but went into her house anyway, Alphonse not far behind.

Bea had gone into the kitchen, filled a pot with water, and set it on the stove to heat before tying her hair out of the way. “I know, I know. Always passing through. But stay a few minutes. I have something for Alphonse.”

Taking a seat, Al echoed, “Something for me?” as his brother collapsed heavily into the chair next to him.

Bea patted the pocket of her dress in thought, looked to the cabinet above her, rolled her teeth over her bottom lip. “Hmm, yes. Let me think of where I put it.”

The pot bubbled, wanting to reenter the conversation, so she plucked it from the stove, poured enough water into a mug, plopped in a tea bag, and placed the mug on the table in front of Ed with a smile. She returned the pot to the stove, to a cold burner this time, and resumed trying to recall what she’d done with her little gift for Alphonse.

Tapping a finger against her lips, she opened the cabinet with a flourish, and reached up on tiptoes to retrieve a package trimmed in robin’s egg blue paper and a gorgeous white satin ribbon. With a twirl, she grabbed it, hid it behind her back, and came to a stop leaning against the counter, just across from Alphonse.

Her cheeks were rosy as she said, “Someone’s birthday is coming up, and I wanted to give you something really special.”

A little gasp rang through his hollow shell as not-yet-fourteen-year-old Alphonse Elric took the package in his hands, pulling the ribbon gently, and taking Bea’s encouragement to “Just rip the paper, it’s okay, you don’t have to be so gentle.” He tried not to peek until all the paper had been removed, and he was left with a blue-green… something, which was wrapped around something else.

Bea took a seat across from the brothers as Alphonse unwrapped the blue-green thing, beaming with pride as he exclaimed, “Oh, it looks so soft! And… there’s a coloring book, and some crayons!”

She watched him flip through the pages, and imagined the expression on his face as best she could as he laughed, “They’re all of kittens! This is amazing!”

Still beaming, she told him, “I’m so glad you like it.”

He looked at her, clutching the gifts to his chest, and smiled at her with his eyes as best he could. “They’re lovely, Bea. Thank you.”

Tilting her head to the side, she offered a disgruntled Ed an explanation. “You two are still children, as much as you’re forced to be adults by your environment. I want you to be able to have a little piece of childhood back.”

Chin in his hand, Ed looked out the window with a huff. “Yeah, right, Bea. Nice try.”

Alphonse nudged his brother with one arm, almost sending the elder flying out of his chair. “Hey, Brother. Don’t be a stinker.” He flipped through the pages again and wanted to ask Bea if he could color one before they left, but a knock at the door stopped him.

“Seems I’m quite popular today,” Bea laughed as she stood and headed to the door. “I wonder if that’s Charlie with the milk.”

With a sigh, Alphonse wrapped the crayons and coloring book in the blanket, then tied it with the ribbon before depositing it inside his chest for safe keeping.

At the door, Bea peeked out the window to see who it was, and an all-too-familiar face was there to greet her. Opening the door, she remarked, “Ah, I see the boys weren’t kidding when they said they couldn’t stay long.”

“Sorry to whisk them away, Miss Cameron,” Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc apologized, “but they’re needed at the colonel’s office.”

Stepping aside to let him in, she replied, “I understand, Lieutenant.”

Grinning, he reminded her, “You know you can call me Jean.”

She winked at him as she replied, “Only if you call me Beatrice.”

He chuckled, rested his hands on his hips, and stopped laughing when he saw the boys standing in the hallway. “Oh, hey boys. Come on, Mustang’s waiting for you.”

Ed trudged to the door as Bea chatted with Jean for a moment. He stopped short of passing between the two, tugged at Bea’s sleeve, and couldn’t help the pang of reassurance in his heart when she wrapped her arms around him, held him tight, and gave him a goodbye kiss on the top of his head.

“Be a good boy, Edward,” she whispered, giving him a final pat on the back as he walked out to Havoc’s car.

“Poor kid,” Jean sighed. “He never gets to just… be a fifteen-year-old.”

She turned to Alphonse, who had inched closer to receive his goodbye hug. She reached up to him, wrapped one arm around him, and whispered, “Happy birthday, Alphonse. I hope I’ll get to see you both again soon.”

“Goodbye, Beatrice,” Alphonse replied, ducking through the doorway to follow his brother.

They watched the boys climb into the back seat of the car, and after a few moments, Bea said, “That’s why they enjoy getting to stay here.”

Confused, Jean said, “What?”

“When they come here,” she clarified, “I make sure to treat them like children, because almost no one else does. So I do the little things to remind them they don’t always have to be so grown-up.”

Smiling, Jean rested a hand on her shoulder. “They’re gathering quite a collection of mothers, aren’t they?”

She looked at him and laughed. “I’m twenty-four now; I think I’m a bit too young to have picked up some adopted sons. But I do think of them as my younger brothers.”

Jean winked at her, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Good to see you again, Bea.”

“Jean,” she whispered, resting a hand on his chest.

With that, he left, getting into the driver’s seat to hustle the boys back to their boss’s office. All three of them waved from the windows, and Bea leaned against the doorjamb, smiling and waving back at them.

Alphonse rolled the window down and called out, “Thank you for the gift, Bea!”

“You’re welcome!” she called back. “Stay safe, boys!”

As Alphonse rolled the window back up, he could’ve sworn she added, “You too, Jean,” in a softer voice.

* * *

Taking her dinner out of the oven, Beatrice Cameron looked proudly upon her fish pie, still a little somber that she wouldn’t be having any guests for dinner. The milk-boy Charlie usually stopped by for a meal whenever he made his deliveries, but she figured she should count her blessings; his father had found better work recently, and Charlie didn’t need to come to her house to have a full belly anymore.

She sung to herself, letting her pie cool before she sliced it, and set the table for one yet again. Before she could sit down, the phone rang, so she darted over to pick it up before she missed it.

Holding the receiver to her ear, she chimed, “Beatrice Cameron, may I ask who this is?”

“No need to be so formal, Bea,” the voice on the other end said.

Smiling to herself, she leaned against the wall. “Hello, Jean. What a pleasure to hear from you.”

He coughed a little, and she stopped herself from reprimanding him for still smoking. Instead, she waited for him to reply. Once he cleared his throat, he asked, “Hey, Bea, do you… do you have any plans for tonight?”

“Well,” she said, “there’s a fish pie I just took out of the oven that’s waiting for me, if that counts.”

“Will a fish pie beat dinner and drinks?”

She sighed, twirled the telephone cord around her finger. “Jean, I really—”

“Beatrice,” he said softly, “I… I just mean as friends. I know how you feel.”

Drumming her fingers on the table, she thought for a moment. “Well, when you put it that way… what time, Jean?”

There was a short pause on the other end, and then he answered her. “How does eight sound?”

“Just perfect,” she said. “See you in a couple of hours, Jean.”

“Bye, Bea.”

The line clicked out, and she replaced the receiver, then went to put the pie in the fridge for the next day.

She double-checked to make sure the doors and windows were locked before heading into her bedroom to get ready. She grabbed a light snack from the kitchen to tide her over until dinner, then began to look through her closet for something suitable.

A black dress was always a practical solution, but she didn’t think hers fit. The green one had a neckline cut a little lower than she usually liked, but perhaps it would do. She already wore too much purple, so the boatneck with the flower detail was definitely out.

“Oh, here we go,” she smiled, pulling a dark blue dress from the back of the closet. “I haven’t worn this one in quite a while.”

Satisfied, she laid the dress on the bed, pulled out her black heels, and decided to pamper herself with a hot bath. She scrubbed her skin, her scalp, and her fingernails, and even took the time to style her hair.

She even pulled out the box of silver and pearl hair pins her mother had left her, pinning them into her updo to add a little bit of sparkle. She slipped into her dress, zipped up the side, and put on her heels. By the time she looked at the clock, it was half past seven, so she went out into the living room and put on a record to listen to while she waited.

The one she picked was an old Amestrian classic, with a romantic lilt to it. As she sat in her rose-patterned armchair, letting the music transport her to another time, she recalled the last time she had spoken to Jean, before the day the Elrics stopped by a few weeks before.

She had just finished baking an apple pie, a recipe she’d saved from before her mother passed away, which had usually been reserved for special occasions. There had been a knock at the door, and there he was, unannounced, still in his work uniform.  She let him in, even though she wondered if it would be better not to, and they sat down at the table in the kitchen to talk.

“Transferred to Central. I see,” she sighed. “A phone call would have accomplished the same thing, Jean.”

“I’m sorry,” he confessed. “I… wanted to talk to you in person.”

She looked at his breast pocket, saw the outline of the pack. Her gaze was trained on the table, on her hands folded in front of her. Seeing him still smoking… it made her insides twist with worry and frustration.

It was a habit he’d picked up after he enlisted, and she’d hated it enough to move away from home. Hated the things he’d done _for his job_ , hated how much she’d grown to dislike him since they were children growing up together in the east.

He reached across the table to lay his hand over hers, and she looked up at him.

He rubbed one hand across his chin. “Beatrice,” he sighed, eyes laden with guilt, “I’m… sorry, for how things were when you left. For how I… for the things I said and did.”

She pulled her hand away. “There wasn’t anything for you to be sorry about. I told you I wanted to get out of the east, that there was nothing there for me after Mom died.”

“Bea,” he said, using her nickname for the first time in several years, “I should have been there for you. Should’ve listened to you.”

Pushing herself away from the table, she walked to the counter, letting her weight fall onto her hands. She shut her eyes and promised herself she wouldn’t cry into the sink again, not this time.

She’d spent too many tears on Jean Havoc, and today, she would not add to them.

She heard him get up but didn’t turn to look at him. Part of her hoped he would see himself out, go back to wherever he was staying and just leave her alone. He’d probably gotten her address from the city registry, or even worse, from his parents back east. She knew she shouldn’t have given them a forwarding address when she moved.

The whole point of moving halfway across the country was to actually leave the past behind. That was a point she had missed, clearly.

“Beatrice,” he said, his voice soft and gentle, just the way he used to be when they were children. She felt him move closer, anticipated him reaching out for her, so she turned toward him, anger and hurt mixing on her face.

“Bea,” he repeated, cupping her face in his hand. There was pain in his eyes, too. He’d never looked that sad before, not even when the puppy he’d found when he was ten died in his arms.

Sniffling, she closed her eyes and cried, “Jean, I… I can’t, not anymore,” as tears begun to roll down her cheeks.

He sighed, stepped away and let his hand fall from her face, and told her, “I’ll respect that. I’m sorry, Beatrice.”

And with that, he’d left, not to appear again until he came to collect the Elrics from her home, on orders from his boss, the indomitable Colonel Roy Mustang.

She wanted to kick herself, remembering how badly she’d wished he hadn’t left. But it had been better off for them to have more time apart. There was an unspoken healing that had taken place, and it was the reason why she hadn’t been angry when he’d kissed her cheek that day she saw the Elrics.

As much as he played the part of the woman-chaser, always going after the next pretty girl to cross his path, she knew Jean had a good heart. It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him, and she had tried to look past her disgust of the military for his sake.

She was distracted from the memory by a knock at the door, and she grabbed her shawl before going to answer it, wrapping it loosely around her shoulders, purse in hand. She peeked through the window, relieved that it was exactly who she’d been expecting.

Funny things had been happening in Central, and she wasn’t quite happy about it. But she knew she would be safe with Jean.

“Good evening,” she said as she opened the door, “I see you still clean up well.”

Sporting a handsome blazer over a crisp white shirt, black silk tie, and nicely-pressed pants, he took his arm out from behind his back to reveal a small bouquet. “Yeah, well,” he laughed, gesturing to her dress with his free hand, “you don’t look too bad yourself.”

She stepped aside to let him come in, saying, “Let me get a vase for those so they don’t wilt. You can tell me all about them while I look for it.”

She found the vase more quickly than anticipated, so he waited until she’d filled it with water and was ready to put the flowers in.

“White lilacs, for humility,” he began. “Gardenias for joy, and daffodils for new beginnings. Some delphinium sprinkled in for lighthearted fun.”

Taking the flowers from him, she held them to her face to smell them. “They’re beautiful, Jean. Thank you.”  
With the flowers secure in their vase, he offered her his arm. She accepted it, and he led her out to the car once she’d locked up the house. He even held her door for her, then closed it once she’d gotten in.

Wrapping her shawl a little more tightly around her, she asked, “So, where exactly are we having dinner?”

He smiled at her, shook his head, and said, “No, Bea, it’s a surprise. Don’t make me spoil it.”

Content to trust him, she sat back to enjoy the ride, Jean taking the long way back to the center of the city. They passed a number of possible locations, but every time she’d look out the window, he’d say, “Mmm, getting warmer, but not quite.”

Finally, when they reached a seedy-looking place, she wasn’t so sure of herself. He parked the car, then got out to get her door, and led her to the entrance of a place called “Madame’s.”

She wasn’t very sure she’d made the right decision in agreeing to dinner and drinks with Jean, especially not if it was at a place she thought was a brothel. What did he have up his sleeve this time?

“Umm, Jean?”

He looked down at her, and wrapped an arm around her to give her a reassuring hug. “We’re just stopping in here for a second. The restaurant’s around the corner.”

“Okay,” she replied, and Jean led her inside, where they were greeted with a loud shout.

“Hey! Havoc!” a rather drunk-sounding man called from the bar. His hair was disheveled, falling in his dark eyes, and he held some half-empty glass in his hand, brandishing it like it was a neon sign.

Bea recognized him as the famed colonel Jean had been dutifully serving for the last several years, and wondered how he had made colonel so young when he seemed to be such an idiot.

“Evening, colonel,” Jean replied, giving his boss a little wave.

Mustang made his way over to them, walking steadily for a man who sounded to be past his drinking limit, and held a hand out to Bea. “Havoc told me you’d be stopping by. Nice to meet you, Miss Cameron. I’m sure he’s told you all about me.”

“Something like that,” she replied, shaking the colonel’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Beatrice, an old friend of Jean’s.”

“Roy Mustang,” the colonel replied. “But you can call me Roy.”

Jean knocked him in the shoulder, earning him a lighthearted reprimand.

“Hey,” he replied, “you might be my boss when we’re at work, but you’re not gonna break out the womanizer attitude in front of a girl I’ve known since I was five.”

Hanging his head chastely, Mustang whined, “Aww, Havoc.”

Confused by the whole ordeal, Bea interrupted, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Mustang. I think we should be going now.”

Perking up immediately, Mustang gave her a smile. “Have a good evening, Miss Cameron. Keep an eye on Jeanie boy here for me, will ya?” He pointed a thumb at Jean, wiggling one eyebrow and winking.

She’d never had the urge to both roll her eyes and cold-cock someone at the same time, but today was the day for new things, apparently.

“Will do. Have a good evening, Mr. Mustang.”

With that, they left, Jean flipping the bird at a mock-offended Mustang on the way out. He hoped Bea didn’t notice him doing it.

She did.

She was glad he’d done it, or else she would’ve had to herself.

Taking his arm once more, she let him lead her outside, down the sidewalk, and around the corner, falling into a comfortable silence. They walked at a languid pace, taking in the sounds and sights of the city at night.

Jazz music drifted out of an open door on their right, which made her smile. His brother used to love playing jazz records in their bedroom when Jean still lived at home.

A pang of nostalgia and regret hit her heart. Maybe she’d missed him more than she thought.

Suddenly, he stopped, and gestured grandly to the door in front of them.

“We have arrived,” he announced, bravado leaking into his voice. “After you, my dear.”

He held the door for her, and she stepped inside Casabelle, a much fancier restaurant than she’d been anticipating. She was glad she’d put the pearl pins in her hair, or else she would’ve felt underdressed.

The host led them to their table, where a rather shiny bottle of wine was sitting in a cooler, waiting for them. He poured for them, then handed them menus to look over.

“Thank you,” Bea said, opening her menu after clinking her glass against Jean’s. As she raised the glass to her lips, she stopped, set it down on the table, and peered more closely at the text on the menu, not sure she was reading correctly.

Smug, Jean asked her, “Something wrong, Beatrice?”

Squinting at the menu, she replied, “Jean, there… there aren’t any prices on this menu. Why aren’t there any prices on the menu?”

Gesturing with his wineglass, he explained, “Oh, Bea, there are prices on the menu… on _my_ menu.”

“ _Jean,”_ she exclaimed under her breath, just as a waitress appeared to take their order.

“Good evening,” she greeted them, “my name is Sylvia, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. How would you like to start things off?”

Grinning far too suspiciously for Bea’s taste, Jean pointed to something on the menu, and asked, “Would you recommend this appetizer with a red wine?”

Sylvia glanced over his shoulder, pad of paper in hand, and said, “Yes, that’s an excellent choice.” She scribbled whatever it was down on her pad, then asked, “And your entrée?”

Just as before, Jean pointed to something on the menu, but she recommended a white wine instead.

“Though, you could enjoy that with a red,” she admitted. “I’ve heard it’s just as delicious either way.”

“Only heard?” he smiled, closing his menu to hand it to her. She scribbled something down on her pad, then took his menu before holding her hand out to take Bea’s as well.

“Yes,” Sylvia replied as Bea handed her menu over, dumbstruck. “I don’t drink, so I give recommendations based on the sommelier’s word and that of our clientele.”

“Understandable,” Jean said. “Thank you, Sylvia.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “I’ll get that appetizer to you as soon as possible.”

With that, she left, and Bea stared at him, openmouthed, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Innocent, he sat back in his chair, shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “I’m not sure why you’re so surprised. You know me well enough, Bea.”

Shaking her head, she replied, “Oh, Jean, I’m beginning to wonder if this was a good idea.”

He leaned across the little table, held his hand out to her, and smiled when she took it. “Beatrice,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles, “you wouldn’t have come if you really didn’t want to. I know you well enough for that.”

“I thought I came just as a friend,” she retorted, though she could hear the lie herself.

He nodded, but stated, “If that’s what you wanted, I’ll respect that, same as always. I just don’t think that’s what you _really_ wanted,” he added, lowering his voice.

Squeezing his hand, she sighed, the weight of the past bearing down on her more than before. Her eyes closed, heart heavy. “Jean, I… I don’t know what I want anymore.”

“Talk to me, Beatrice,” he coaxed, holding her hand in both of his. “And… and before you say anything, I’m…” He trailed off, rubbed his thumbs across her hand and cleared his throat. “I’m working on quitting. For real this time.”

Blinking in shock, when her vision focused on his face, she swallowed hard.

His eyes, bluer than the sky, looked upon her with the tenderness of a lover who longed for forgiveness.

He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, which he held out to her. She took it, dabbing at her eyes, and smiled.

“I won’t ask for too much,” she laughed, “though I do worry about you still being in the military.”

He smiled, and she felt her heart melt; she could never stay mad at him for long, as much as he drove her crazy sometimes.

“I know you don’t like it,” he admitted. “But it’s a stable job, and it means I don’t have to take over the general store back home. Plus, I’m usually on desk duty under the colonel’s—er, under Hawkeye’s careful watch.”

She wiped at her eyes again, and they sat there in silence for a few minutes, happy to enjoy each other’s company. He held her hand in both of his, smiling to himself, and only let go when the appetizer arrived.

Smoked cheese and flatbread crisps began the meal, as did light chatter about life in Central, the antics of the colonel, and shared worry over the Elric brothers. The wine they set aside for water, but it paired well with the gorgeous roast and potatoes that comprised the entrée. Water became the drink of choice again for the dessert, an unbelievably giant slice of cake they shared between them. She excused herself to the powder room as they were getting ready to leave.

Leaning against the sink, peering into the mirror, she was surprised to see how flushed and full of life she looked. There was a sparkle in her eyes that she hadn’t seen before, and her heart beat content in her chest, not too nervous and not too bored.

She refreshed her lipstick, took a deep breath, and returned to their table, as Jean adjusted his tie and offered his arm once more.

“Fancy a little stroll?” he asked, and she nodded, so he led her out of the restaurant and down the block, where the street had been closed for an open-air, free dance.

“Oh, Jean!” she laughed. “You always have to have a little trick up your sleeve, don’t you?”

With a flourish, he asked, “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Wordless, she took his hand, and he led her onto the dance floor, where prepared sheets of parquet had been laid to make a smoother dancing surface. There was a live band parked in front of one of the storefronts, and just as they hit the dance floor, they began playing a gorgeous, languid ballad.

She rested one hand on his chest, and he wrapped his arm loosely around her as they swayed to the beat, her head on his shoulder. Her hand clasped his, and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles once more.

She could feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips, skipping and lilting along like a guilty child’s, and she raised her head to look at him. His eyes were misty, with a faraway look, almost as if he was seeing into the past.

“Jean,” she whispered, and he started, blushing pink for a second, then red.

“Um, yeah,” he mumbled, as she slid her hand up to wrap around his shoulder.

“Jean,” she repeated, her voice breathy. “Look at me.”

He swallowed, blinked, and did as she asked, his heart dropping into his stomach as he thought, _Oh, Beatrice, please don’t look at me like that._

He guided her other hand to his chest, then wrapped both arms around her, holding her close, and pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed.

They swayed together, their breath mingling, and he wondered if her lips would taste of the wine they’d shared.

He didn’t get a chance to find out, though, because a breeze picked up out of nowhere, followed by a concussive blast from somewhere in the city.

Screams tore through the air as many of the people were knocked off-balance, Jean holding Bea steady as they both sunk to the floor. He covered her head with his hand; protecting her became his first priority.

After a few moments, the commotion settled as people realized they were okay. Confusion replaced the fear as people questioned the source of the blast, and Jean helped Beatrice to her feet.

“Jean,” she said, “we should get to a phone. Call the colonel.”

“You’re right,” he said, wrapping one arm around her to guide her down the block. “It might be quicker to just go back to Madame’s, though. He’s probably still there.”

“What is it about that place?” she asked, taking careful steps so she wouldn’t twist her ankle.

He looked down at her, confused, until it dawned on him. Laughing, he explained, “The owner is his adoptive mother, his aunt, Chris Mustang. He hangs around there so much because he grew up there, basically.”

“Oh,” she said, and they hightailed it, a bad feeling creeping into her stomach.

Once they reached Madame’s, the colonel was at the bar, barking into a phone, clenching his fist on the table.

“What do you mean, it exploded?!” Mustang exclaimed. “Get a car over here now! And get the Elric brothers _out of there, now!_ ”

“Colonel!” Jean shouted, still holding Beatrice to his side. “What’s going on?”

As he slammed the receiver down, Mustang turned to answer him. “Edward and Alphonse went to investigate the Fifth Laboratory, next to Central Prison. While they were there, it exploded. I just got word from Ross and Brosh. They’re taking Ed to the hospital.”

“ _No,_ ” Bea gasped, her legs giving out. She would’ve hit the ground if Jean hadn’t been holding her. He guided her to the floor, holding her and whispering that they would be okay as she began to cry.

“Beatrice,” he said, keeping his voice low so only she could hear, “they’re strong boys. They’ll be okay.”

“They—they’ve lost so much, Jean,” she sobbed, “they… they can’t lose each other.”

“They won’t,” he reassured her, pressing his lips to her temple. “They won’t.”

He held her until she calmed down, and Mustang told him to drive her home before doing anything else.

When they reached her home, Jean walked her all the way into the house and made sure she sat down on the couch to try and relax. “Wait here for a minute,” he told her, and then he went out into the hall to use her phone.

A woman picked up on the other end, but when he asked for Mustang, she immediately handed the phone over to him.

“Yeah.”

“I got her back to the house, colonel. What are my orders?”

“Stay with her, Havoc,” Mustang told him. “I’m going down to the hospital myself. According to Ross, Al’s fine, and Ed’s injuries aren’t critical.”

Relieved, Jean replied, “Yes, sir,” and hung up the phone.

“Jean?” Bea called, and he returned to the sitting room.

He joined her on the couch, wrapping his arm around her as she leaned into him. “That was the colonel,” he said, “and the boys are fine. No serious injuries.”

“Oh, thank God,” she sobbed, pressing her hands to her face.

They sat together in silence until her sobs faded.

She collected herself, cleared her throat, and asked, “Don’t… don’t you need to go be with your boss?”

He cupped her chin in his hand as he answered her. “Boss gave me the night off. You’ve got my full attention tonight.” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear and asked, “You still got that record I gave you?”

“Y-yes,” she whispered, and he guided her off the couch, turned on the record player, and held his hand out to her. She decided to forego that, choosing to drape both arms around his shoulders, resting her head on his chest.

A tender smile blossomed on his face as he held her waist, and they swayed to the music drifting out of the record player.

When the first song ended, he cleared his throat to speak, but couldn’t find the right words—for the situation, for how either of them felt. So he continued to hold her, rubbing her back and humming along to the music.

At the end of the second song, he licked his lips and sighed. The night could’ve gone a lot better, though it also could’ve gone a whole lot worse. He was thankful no one was dead.

Voice soft, Bea said, “Hey, Jean?”

“Yeah,” he answered, as she lifted her head to look at him.

She licked her lips, rolled her teeth across her bottom lip. Ran her hand through his hair, tilted her head to the side as her eyes fluttered shut.

He kissed her.

And she did, in fact, taste like wine.

Jean Havoc found himself thinking he’d be happy to get drunk off her kiss any day.

Beatrice Cameron found herself wishing she’d never run away from him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same weekend as before, 1915. Our two lovers are drawn closer together by the hands of fate, and Beatrice receives the greatest gift she could ever wish for.
> 
> A certain fiery blond allows himself to be vulnerable, and the world keeps turning, though he used to think it would stop if he admitted his pain.

The next summer, Beatrice Cameron was tending the gardenia bush in her yard, singing to herself. Jean would be arriving soon, and he’d said he had a big surprise for her. She smiled, wondering what he had up his sleeve.

The sun was shining, and a light breeze picked up, tossing the hem of her skirt about. She gathered what loose fabric she could, tucking it under her as she knelt in front of the bush while she trimmed some of the dead blooms and bug-eaten petals and leaves.

Her hat obscured her view a little, so when she heard a car honking behind her, she stood up and turned to see who it was.

Jean climbed out of the driver’s seat, smiling around the toothpick he kept between his teeth. It was a better habit than the cigarettes, so she didn’t mind. She was just thankful he’d recovered from the spinal cord injury, only sporting a light limp as any indication of his previous paralysis.

He waved at her to stay where she was as a blond popped out of the backseat. Jean had installed a window shade in the back, so she couldn’t tell who it was until they’d exited the vehicle.

Clasping her hands together in front of her heart, she exclaimed, “Oh, Edward! How lovely to see you!”

Ed waved, grinning from ear to ear, as he leaned back into the car, probably to get his bags.

Beatrice watched for a moment before calling out, “But where is Alphonse?”

Ed obscured her view as a familiar voice called out, “I’m right here, Bea.”

Her face froze, tears brimming in her eyes. His voice no longer held a metallic ring to it.

When Ed stepped aside, the tears flowed down her face, and she stood transfixed as Alphonse, flesh-and-bone Alphonse, walked up to her, leaning heavily on his crutches. He stopped less than a foot away and tilted his head as he gave her the biggest smile he could manage.

To her shock, he held his arms out to her and asked, “Well, where’s my squeeze, Bea?”

Her confusion melted into joy, and she held her arms out to him, letting him come to her. He was bone-thin, and she didn’t want to hurt him, so she laid her hands on his back, her cheek against his soft hair.

They held each other for quite a while as she cried, repeating over and over, “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it’s you.”

He did his best to squeeze her, but he was still weak from the muscle atrophy. She held him, pulling back enough to get a good look at him; she’d never seen him as flesh-and-bone, the real boy inside the armor, except for an old family picture he’d kept with Ed’s things while they traveled.

She couldn’t stop grinning as she said, “Oh my, you’ve got the same gorgeous eyes as your brother. You’re going to have to beat the girls off with a stick in a year, aren’t you?”

Laughing, he whined, “Bea,” as she ruffled his hair, laid a hand on his cheek.

“And your hair is the same shade, too,” she added. “You both take after your father, all right.”

She had been lucky enough to meet Hohenheim not long before the events of the Promised Day, when they were finishing their preparations in Central. He had thanked her for watching after his boys, and she had thanked him in turn for coming to visit. Since then, she hadn’t heard from the brothers, other than a letter she received the week after, saying they were okay, but would be taking a sabbatical to recover from the day’s events.

It was never unusual to go months without hearing from them, so she wrote back and told them they were always welcome to come to visit her whenever they’d be in Central next.

Now, she understood why; he must have gotten his body back sometime around then, and he’d needed to complete several months of physical therapy just to get up and give someone a hug.

Her eyes lit up, and she suddenly realized, “Oh, wait, I can do _this_ now,” and she pressed a big kiss to his cheek, making him burst into a fit of giggles.

“Bea!” he shrieked, blushing yet loving every second of the attention. “I don’t think Jean would like that!”

“Eh, I’ll let it slide,” Jean laughed, as he and Ed stood by, their bags in tow. “It’s not every day that you get your body back, after all.”

“Besides,” she added, “I have to make up for all the hugs and kisses you couldn’t feel over the years.”

Ed laughed and said, “Well, if you’re okay with it, there’ll be plenty of time for that.”

“Okay with what?” she asked, head tilting.

He pointed to their bags. “Al got discharged, but he’s still not quite strong enough to travel. We were wondering if you’d mind if we stayed here for a little while, while he’s in outpatient.”

Mock-offended, she answered, “Well, _of course_ I don’t mind! How long will he need to stay in Central?”

The brothers exchanged a few glances, and Ed spoke first.

“The doctors suggested another month,” he said, scratching his head, “but Al thinks he’ll be ready in two weeks.”

“Okay,” she said, “so we plan for a month anyways, but if he’s cleared medically, then two weeks.”

Ed looked to Al, who shrugged. “Okay, okay. I like her plan better, anyway.”

They all laughed, and she helped him into the house. They all went into the kitchen so she could make them something to eat.

While the boys ate, she and Jean grabbed their bags to get them settled in. She thought about setting them up in the guest room, but told him to wait while she asked them a question. Armed with her answer, she told Jean to help her bring their things into her room.

“Any particular reason why?” he asked, following her instructions anyway.

She put Al’s bag down, then placed her hands on her hips. “The bed in here is much softer than the guest bed, and it’s twice the size. I’ll stay in the guest bedroom, and they’ll sleep in here.” Motioning behind him, she added, “Plus, there’s a bathroom attached to this room, which will make it easier for Alphonse.”

Raising his eyebrows, Jean asked, “You sure he’ll be okay with being babied? They’ve been doing that to him a lot since he got his body back.”

“That reminds me,” she countered, “when _did_ he get it back?”

“Same day Ed got his arm back,” he grinned. “The Promised Day, back in the spring.”

Slack-jawed, she bolted from the room, running to the kitchen, where Ed was removing his jacket to hang it on the back of his chair. Sure enough, both arms coming out of the sleeves of his t-shirt were flesh and blood, with a large scar and some remaining metal from his automail peeking out of the neckline.

“My God,” she breathed, drawing the attention of the brothers. She sat down heavily across from them, demanding to know every detail of what had happened.

It took a good hour to tell the story, and she cried when Ed regaled his brother’s sacrifice, laughed when he pantomimed punching the homunculus in the face, and beamed with pride when he told her how he’d traded his alchemy for his brother, whole.

She hugged them both, and then asked the dreaded question.

The boys fell somber, and then said in unison, “Dad died.”

They tried to reassure her by telling her it had been coming for a long time; he was over four hundred years old, after all, and he wanted nothing more than to be with Mom again.

She smiled, though they both could see the pain in her eyes. She knew what it was like, having lost her father at five years old and her mother suddenly, as they had, when she was twenty.

Maybe that was why he’d opened up to her, Ed thought. Because she’d felt loss cut as deep as they had, and even more. But she’d still found the strength to turn her life into one full of joy, if the ring on her finger was any indication.

Alphonse noticed it right after Ed did, and changed the subject by asking, “Bea… what’s that on your hand?”

Blinking to clear her vision of unshed tears, she asked, “Oh, what, the scar? I told you, I burned myself a couple of years ago.”

Taking her hand in his delicate fingers, he clarified, “No, I meant this ring,” as he touched the cool metal, set with a pearl.

She blushed, as Jean reappeared in the kitchen. Their eyes locked as she answered, “It’s a promise.”

Alphonse lit up, Ed smiled devilishly, and they both demanded to know, “Well, when’s the wedding?!”

“Not _that_ kind of promise,” Jean groaned, while Beatrice blushed bright red. He pointed out, “It’s on the wrong hand, you dolts.”

Sly, Alphonse pointed out, “Not everyone wears them on the left hand. How are we supposed to know?”

“Besides,” Ed added, “we saw you kiss her last year.”

“In full view of the car,” Alphonse added.

“Shit,” Jean said, covering his face with his hand.

Beatrice blushed even redder, if that was humanly possible.

“Well, then,” Ed said, “what kind of promise is it?”

Jean walked over and wrapped his arms around her as she stood between the boys’ chairs. “It’s the kind of promise,” he said, “where she’ll always be important and dear to me, no matter how far apart we may be.”

The look on Alphonse’s face said it all, and Ed nudged him, whispering, “Buddy, _people can see your face now_ , remember?”

“Oh, shit,” he gasped, sending them all into howling laughter; none of them had ever heard that kind of language come from him before, and Bea sunk to the floor, her hand still in his, as Jean laid down, his sides in stitches.

When she caught her breath, she exclaimed, “Alphonse Elric!”

“What?” he laughed. “That’s nothing on what I told Mr. Heinkel when I fought Pride!”

“ _You did what?_ ” she gasped.

Ed grabbed his sleeve and demanded, “Al, what the hell did you say to him?”

Trying to stifle a laugh, he said, “Okay, it’s not what you think—I said, I said, ‘I’m trying to save your life, asshole!’”

“ _Alphonse!_ ” she shrieked, doubled over and holding her stomach, as Jean wished he had a paper bag right about then. Ed had tears in his eyes, and were it not for his automail leg to act as a counterbalance, he would’ve fallen from his chair.

“ _Wha-at?_ ” Alphonse whined, wiping at his eye as he, too, was consumed with laughter. “Gosh, you act like swearing is some big taboo… Ed swears all the time!”

Bea forced herself to catch her breath, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him a kiss on the top of his head. “It—it’s because,” she laughed, burying her face in his hair, “you’re the sweet, delicate, innocent one. Hearing you swear—it’s just, not the way the world works.”

Jean, who was trying not to die on the floor, caught a breath. “Like hearing Bea swear.”

“Yeah,” Ed agreed, “it’s just… you’re the pretty boy, you always have been.”

“And what are you?” he asked his brother. “The spite gremlin?”

Ed’s eyes narrowed, but he shrugged and huffed. “Yeah, actually. That’s a fair assessment.”

“Oh, Jean,” Bea said, turning to him and reaching her arms down to him, “honey, get up off the floor.”

“I got it,” he sighed, waving her off as he rolled onto his knees, then used the back of Ed’s chair as leverage. He groaned as he stood up, rested his hands on his lower back, and popped a few joints in satisfaction.

“Help me with the dishes?” she asked, placing her hands on his back and giving his shoulders a quick rub.

“Yeah,” he sighed, but Ed stood up and beat him to it.

She protested, but he wouldn’t hear any of it, so she ruffled his hair and took the dishes, washed them, and handed them back so he could rinse them. Alphonse was given a towel to dry them, so he could feel helpful too.

The rest of the day was devoted to showing Beatrice how to assist with Alphonse’s physical therapy, getting the boys settled in her room, and shifting some of her belongings to the guest room for the duration of their stay. Jean stayed for dinner, but left soon after, citing a “mandatory team Mustang meeting” which sounded suspiciously like heading to a bar. He kissed Bea goodnight, and promised he would be by on Monday, bidding the boys a good weekend.

Alphonse decided to retire early, so Ed helped him to change into his pajamas and climb into bed.

“Oh, my,” he sighed, a smile on his face. “This bed really is soft. I’m going to miss this, when we go home.”

Ed tucked him in, which earned him a halfhearted swat on the arm. “Yeah, well, if you start complaining that your back is killing you, we’re moving you to the guest room.”

Snuggling a pillow, Alphonse shot back, “Oh, yeah? And where would you sleep? The bed in there only holds one.”

“On the floor,” he answered, noncommittal. “Or the couch. Doesn’t matter.”

Alphonse rolled his eyes, then buried his face in the pillow. He said something, but his voice was too muffled for Ed to understand it.

Ed nudged him. “Speak up, bud. You’ve got a face full of pillow.”

Lifting his head, Alphonse repeated, “It smells like her.”

Sitting on the bed, Ed chuckled, “Well, it should. It is her bed.”

Alphonse buried his face in the pillow again, and Ed sat there, waiting for him to fall asleep yet again.

It comforted Ed to be able to watch him sleep, knowing that he spent over forty thousand hours awake—he’d done the math when Alphonse was first getting checked out in the hospital, less than an hour after the dwarf in the flask had finally been defeated. He’d certainly tried his best to make up for it, spending the first few months back in his body sleeping sixteen hours a day.

Sleep was restorative, they’d told them, and he did a lot of his healing while he wasn’t awake. The time he did spend conscious was devoted to gradually increasing his food intake, until he was getting plenty of calories to help build muscle as he attended therapy. They started him off on bland, boring foods, especially after he threw up the first dozen times they tried to feed him.

His body had wanted to reject just about everything the doctors threw at him, and Ed had worried he’d waste away and die. But Alphonse pulled through, and with the help of a milk diet—Ed avoided looking at him during mealtimes as best he could, to his brother’s chagrin—he put on enough weight for the doctors to stop panicking. The milk coated his stomach, making unseasoned shredded chicken palatable, once he got past the sensation of chewing and swallowing.

The real hell had been battling sensory overload, and for a few days, he couldn’t bear to have anyone or anything touch his skin. Not an easy thing to avoid, being stuck in a hospital bed round the clock.

The one thing that convinced him most to adapt and overcome it had been that little blanket Beatrice had given him a year ago.  

Ed smiled to himself. Beatrice was like an older sister, and definitely one of the adults, but he knew she would always occupy a very special place in Alphonse’s heart. He could only attribute it to the fact that she _always_ treated him as his age, and somehow never managed to forget there was a scared little boy inside that seven-foot shell.

She had even treated Ed as his age, and as much as he might’ve hated it in the moment, he was grateful for it in retrospect.

He was startled by Alphonse’s soft voice saying, “Ed?”

“Yeah, buddy,” he replied, looking to his brother.

Alphonse lifted a finger toward his bag, which lay a few feet away on the floor. “I forgot my blanket… can you get it?”

Smiling, Ed got up without a word, retrieved the beloved thing, and laid it on top of his brother, who gathered a fistful of it to tuck under his cheek.

“Thanks, brother,” Al said, drifting off with every passing second.

Before he left the bedroom, Ed laid a hand on his brother’s head, brushed his hair back. Alphonse smiled, snuggling more into the blanket, and Ed crept to the door, opening it as quietly as he could, turning the light out on the way. Bea was just outside the door, so he mouthed to her, _He’s falling asleep._

She nodded and ducked past him into the bedroom. He watched as she made her way to the side of the bed, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, running her fingers through his hair before sneaking back out as Ed shut the door behind her.

“I’m glad he’s doing well,” she said, once they were sequestered in the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee for each of them, and smiled when he reached for the milk. “I thought you hated it,” she teased.

Rolling his eyes, he scoffed, “Don’t remind me. It’s the only thing that makes it palatable.”

“I didn’t know you drank coffee, Edward,” she replied.

He shrugged. “Only picked it up in the last few months. Pass the sugar?”

She did, with a smile. “How have you been holding up, Ed?”

The weariness he’d been fighting off surfaced, and he sank back into the chair, sighing deeply. “It’s been hard, what with Al needing so much assistance. I didn’t think it would take this much to get him back to health.” He rolled his jaw to try and relax, and then continued, “We’ve gotten so much help from people, especially—” he fake-shuddered before sighing, “Mustang, but there’s still something missing.”

Beatrice nodded. “I’m glad that there are so many people around you who can help. I just wish I had been able to be there for you sooner than this.”

Jumping forward in his chair, Ed protested, “No, Bea, don’t you apologize… you’ve got nothing to apologize for. You did so much for us—” He coughed, trying to clear his throat, and took a deep breath, looking down at the table. “You worried about us constantly. And let’s not forget how busy you were with taking care of Havoc.”

Smiling through the painful memories, she conceded, “Jean’s injuries were… stressful, to say the least. But you boys have been on your own for a decade. It’s… it’s hard.”

Ed wiped at his face, resting a fist on the tabletop. “I feel like I should be stronger.”

She was at his side in a flash, and she wrapped her arms around him just as the tears hit the table. She held his head against her chest, rubbing his back and whispering to him.

“It’s okay, Ed. Just let it out.”

He hadn’t cried so much since Hohenheim had tried to sacrifice his last life for his son, or maybe since he’d discovered the thing they’d resurrected wasn’t actually his mother. But this time… this time, it was because he wasn’t enough, he could never be enough—

“Ed,” Beatrice whispered, “you’re still a kid. You don’t have to fight the whole world by yourself. There are dozens, hundreds of people whose lives you’ve touched, who will do anything in their power to support you. Just because it’s hard now, with Alphonse in the condition he’s in… it won’t always be like this. So many people love you and would sacrifice the world for you.”

He covered his face with his hands, and she continued to hold him while he cried. He tried to stay as quiet as he could, because Al was sleeping in the other room, and he didn’t want to wake his brother and worry him.

She rested her chin on his head, and said, “Besides, it’s okay to lean on other people, whether that be Mustang, Miss Riza, Jean, Winry—”

He hiccupped when she dropped Win’s name, and she laughed, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Oh,” she teased, “I see you’ve still got _something_ going on for Winry.”

Flustered, but glad she’d brought up a different subject, he dried his tears and said, “No way. Why do all the women in my life ask about her?”

She grinned, gave him a squeeze, and returned to her seat. “Because we can all tell, that’s why. And who else has brought it up?”

“Hawkeye,” he replied, taking a sip of his coffee before it went totally cold. “She—”

The phone rang, though Ed couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful, and Beatrice got up to answer it. While she was gone, he went to the sink and rinsed his face, trying to get rid of the crying flush.

She picked it up on the third ring, and her heart was content when her hello was answered with, “I’m getting out of this early. Not really in the mood to listen to the colonel drunkenly hit on every girl in sight.”

“Jean,” she sighed, “come home?”

He chuckled. “As if you even have to ask.”

They said goodbye and hung up, and warmth settled into her stomach at how easily he’d leaned into the concept of her house being home. It had come up a few times since he’d stayed with her to recover from his injury, but after he’d regained most of his ability to walk—and sponsored the troops on the Promised Day, courtesy of the Havoc General Store—he’d gone back to his apartment on the upper west side of Central, only passing through her home on weekends and the occasional weeknight.

He missed home-cooked meals, he’d said, and being a bachelor for so long had made his self-sufficiency wane in the face of domestic life. She was sure the only reason why he hadn’t jumped at the chance to move in with her, get to come home to a hot meal every day, was because he wasn’t comfortable enough to ask the question.

Not _that_ question; that was certainly off the table for another year, at least.

He’d always been the more traditional one, though, so it made sense that he wouldn’t bring up moving in together until that other question had been addressed. It didn’t make it less difficult to push away her longing for him, her desire for his constant company. Weekends where he’d come stay with her to get away from the world and relax felt like heaven for more than one reason.

Well, she’d been stupid enough in the past to not tell him what she wanted or how she felt. She’d sworn to cut that out, especially after the events of the Promised Day. Having her soul ripped from her body for several minutes had put a lot of things into perspective.

Life was too short, her mother had always told her. Best to go after the things you wanted before they slipped from your fingers forever.

Introspection aside, she returned to the kitchen just as Ed was drying his face off. He’d managed to get rid of most of the flush, and leaned against the counter, taking slow, even breaths to calm himself.

She walked over to him with open arms, and he accepted her hug gratefully. How much he’d grown, in emotion as well as physique, since she’d seen him the year before. Whereas his younger self would resist her gentle affection, putting on a standoffish attitude because he felt he needed to be brave, mature Ed leaned into it whenever he could.

Beatrice, in his mind, would never take the place of his mother, which was true for all of the women who had come into his life since her death. But she would certainly be favored as a sister-figure, one of few whom he felt he could be vulnerable around.

The upside to putting his trust in Beatrice was that he wouldn’t get beaned with a wrench for being a dumbass. Not that he’d done many dumbass things in front of her, but it was reassuring to know she remembered what it was like to be his age.

He grimaced inwardly at the realization that he’d enjoyed getting treated like a kid by her. That particular piece of knowledge held the same self-contempt as admitting he’d been short for most of his life. He was thankful he’d gained a good six inches in the last year, surprising Winry with his sudden burst of height, and bringing him to the same level as Beatrice and Hawkeye.

Smiling to himself, he remembered how the doctors had told him and Al that they both had a few years of growing left. Al was holding out on the chance that he’d end up taller than Ed again, but they both knew that was probably a long shot.

He’d finally be the taller brother, after all these years.

“Something funny?” Bea asked, giving him a little pat on the shoulder as she stepped away to clear the table.

“Oh,” he started, “I was just… thinking about home.”

“You two are from Resembool, right?” Bea asked, putting the dirty mugs in the sink for tomorrow’s washing. “Do you miss the countryside?”

Folding his arms over his chest, Ed replied, “Yeah. I do miss it. We had a lot of bad memories there, but so many good ones, too. And…”

Taking the sponge in hand, Bea waited for him to continue, deciding to wash the mugs to buy some time.

Ed took a deep breath. “And, I’m eager to get back to Winry. To let her know we’re alright, before we set off again.”

Trying to hide her surprise, Bea kept her voice even as she asked, “You’d return to traveling again so soon?”

“Maybe not immediately,” he admitted. “But I know Al wants to go to Xing to learn alkahestry, and I’m planning to go west to see what else I can learn.”

She smiled, pausing for a moment. “Still wanna learn all you can, even without the alchemy?”

“The day I stop learning is the day they put me in the ground,” he joked. “I might not be an alchemist anymore, but there’s still so much to learn out there. Medicine, physics, botany…”

She looked at him, and his eyes were bright, glimmering with excitement.

“And yes,” he confessed, “even literature.”

She laughed a bit. He might’ve just added that in because of her budding book collection, he might not have. He’d been bit by the reading bug just as she had, though his interests had previously been in the alchemical realm.

Nodding in the direction of the sitting room, she reminded him, “I’ve got plenty, if you’d like to borrow something. Just let me know.”

“Thanks,” he said, then yawned, glancing at the clock in the corner. “I think I’m going to head to bed. It’s getting pretty late.”

She finished rinsing the mugs, dried her hands, and opened her arms for a goodnight hug. He reciprocated, and to her shock, gave her a light peck on the cheek as he muttered, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she echoed back, and he headed off to the bedroom, loosening his hair from its braid on the way there.

He’d been on the receiving end many times before, but she’d never known him to give affection so freely like that.

It was a sign, she realized, that he’d grown up more than she thought. Or at the very least, more than he’d shown on past visits to her home. It wasn’t a bad thing, not by any stretch. In fact, she couldn’t be prouder of who he’d become.

That spunky tween had turned into a strong young man who could acknowledge when it favored him to admit weakness to others.

His transformation reminded her of another blond who’d come into his own in similar fashion.

She heard a soft knock at the door, and went to answer it, allowing herself to be folded into his arms with a blissful smile.

“It’s good to be back,” Jean rumbled, nuzzling her hair.

She led him into the sitting room, and they cuddled on the couch as she asked him about his night. Even before he’d admitted over the phone that they’d gone on a bar run, she’d known it was a casual meeting. His boss didn’t call them on Fridays, let alone call them at all, the official work being left to his second-in-command, Hawkeye.

Jean cupped her face in his hand, running his thumb across her cheek. “I missed you.”

She smiled, feeling cheeky. “You weren’t even gone that long. What are you gonna do if you get shipped off somewhere else, like back east?”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he asked, “What, am I not allowed to take you with me? You’re pretty tiny, I bet I could hide you in my suitcase.”

Stilled by his words, she asked, “J—would you want me to move with you?”

Part of her wanted him to bring up that other question.

He held her cheek in his hand, looked into her eyes, and kissed her before daring to answer. He smiled against her lips. “’I would starve to death, deprived of your caress, the sweet scent of your soul, your soft lips.’”

Her eyes went glassy until she scoffed and laughed, “You _did_ read the book I gave you.”

“Every word. And now I understand why you love reading so much.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked. “And why do you think that is?”

He went silent for a minute, tracing his fingertips across her shoulder and down her arm to lace his fingers through hers. He tilted his head and told her, “That book felt like… an extended love letter. Like the author had reached down into my heart and plucked out all the things I wanted to say most.”

“Is… is that so,” she mused.

“Hey,” he said, “what’s wrong, Bea?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, unable to say what she should have said.

From the frown on his face, he could sense what she was trying to get at. And deep down, Jean knew it, of course. He knew that she wanted him to be able to pour out his heart to her in the same beautiful language as the book.

But Jean Havoc was a country boy at heart, and country boys weren’t made for that kind of sweet-talking, not when it regarded the women they loved most.

Then again, just because Jean was a country boy didn’t mean he couldn’t learn a few new tricks.

Clearing his throat, he took a moment to try and remember the passage. He’d written it down a handful of times trying to memorize it, and he knew he would fumble, but he had to try.

“’No matter how many times I held her in my arms, no matter how many times my heart was filled to the brim with joy at her smile, I could not find the will to ask her to be mine. For she could not be owned, nor bought; merely cherished, appreciated from afar, a delicate creature so easily spooked from the watering hole.’”

Her eyes grew misty, and she began to sob when he kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger as he held her close.

“Oh, oh,” she whispered, struggling to stay composed, “I can’t—I’ll wake the boys up if I cry.”

His voice wavered as he added, “Besides, you’re gonna make me start crying, my love.”

She fell silent, stilled by that one word.

He sniffled, then tilted her chin so she would look at him. His eyes were darker, still a gorgeous blue, but weighed by time, past anguish, and unspoken things.

“I love you,” he whispered, “and I know it’s taken me way too long to say it—”

She kissed him without thinking, and was breathless when she cried, “Jean, I love you, too, and I’ve loved you since we were kids.”

It was his turn to be stunned into temporary silence, before he admitted, “I know.”

Smiling, they sat together for a little while, his forehead pressed to hers, tears of joy flowing between them.

In time, he cleared his throat and said, “It’s really late, Bea.”

She wiped at her face, then sighed. “The… guest bed is a little small, but will you stay with me?”

He kissed her cheek. “As if you have to ask.”

* * *

Ed woke first the next morning, and pulled on his pants before going out into the kitchen so he wouldn’t wake Al. He rummaged around in Bea’s cabinets for a minute before finding the mugs and set the pot on the stove to brew some coffee for everyone. He couldn’t find the paper filters, so he went into the guest room, where he figured she’d still be resting, to ask her.

He did his best to be quiet when he opened the door, but he couldn’t help the little gasp when he looked inside.

Jean Havoc, very much awake, was lazily running his fingers through the wild hair of Beatrice, who was still very much fast asleep, her head on his chest and her arm wrapped around his middle. The pearl ring caught the sunlight drifting in through the parted curtains, winking at Ed as he looked upon the peaceful scene.

Jean gave him a little wave, and Ed nodded back before shutting the door. The pot was bubbling when he returned to the kitchen.

If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought the inanimate object to be giggling with mirth. That’s what Al would’ve done, if he’d discovered them like that, cuddled together in the too-small guest bed.

Ed, however, smiled to himself, and thought of Winry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me some creative liberties with Al’s course of physical therapy. I am not a doctor and didn’t really feel like consulting a nursing major or nutritionist for something that’s just supposed to be a fun exercise in writing.
> 
> I blame this post for the “oh shit” moment Al has:  
> https://fantasticallytragical.tumblr.com/post/166046241692/after-al-gets-his-body-back 
> 
> Also I blame the bloopers for Al’s potty mouth. I love everything Maxey said in the blooper reel and I couldn’t resist dropping some of his… more colorful lines in. If you haven’t seen them, I highly suggest you go watch them, but a warning for language and possibly pulling a muscle from laughing so hard. 
> 
> Addendum to points to clarify: I'm leaning towards the French pronunciation of Jean, so its like ‘John’ but with a soft j. Furthermore, writing the last three or four pages of this chapter, I was listening to the Fruits Basket “Memory of You” theme, so I highly recommend having it play on repeat starting right after Jean and Beatrice hang up and she returns to the kitchen. The pacing for it is perfect, if you read at a moderate speed.

**Author's Note:**

> I, fascinatingly, almost exclusively write in present tense--but once I got a kick for this idea, it flowed better in past tense. 
> 
> My goal: actually write a limited number of chapters for this. Figure out where I want my ending to be, and stick with it. Yall just get to be here for the ride. 
> 
> Canonically speaking, I don't think there's an actual name for Mme. Christmas's place, so I gave it the most unoriginal name I could. Gimme a break here. And the restaurant that's mentioned? Also doesn't exist. Sue me.
> 
> (also if you pay attention to the flowers he gave her, he wasn't being a hundred percent honest about what one of them meant)


End file.
